My Little Concrete Angel
by kingcheetah101
Summary: Stop child abuse! I own nothing but the characters. This is not based on life experience, it's based off on a song called concrete angel. i might not be the only one who made a similar story, but it's very inspirational. Try to read it.


My Little Concrete Angel

The sun melts through the window as I gently open my bruised eyes. I glance around to see my faded and cracked walls and I remember, I'm in my empty and lifeless room. Relief surges through me, I survived once again another brutal beating, I let out a quiet sigh and I try to get out of bed. Pain shoots through me, as i try to just land onto the floor. I try not to cry in agony, so I don't wake my mother, but it hurts so badly. But somehow, I actually accomplish to get out of my bed without doing a single little moan. I limp over to my tiny closet and I see my only article of clothing, my worn out, old, patched dress, that I wore yesterday and everyday before that. I remember my dress used to be a beautiful linen dress with graceful lace on the collar, sleeves, and at the back edges of the dress. But now, it looks like like dirty old patches that look like they were taken out of the garbage and just patched together. I gingerly put it on, trying not to touch my gashes and bruises, I wince as it touches my skin. I clumsily walk out of my room to see to the right of me, my mother spread out and passed out on her bed with a bottle of alcohol spilled on the carpet. I sigh and try to walk down the stairs as quietly as I can, unfortunately, I thump down on the last step, I hear a low groan. Fear bubbles up inside of me, if I wake her up then i will get another very painful beating. But then, nothing else happens. I do another big sigh of relief and walk over to the kitchen island to see my dirty old once pink lunchbox set on the the edge of right corner, I stretch up to grab it, but as bite down on the faded strap, I crumple down in shearing pain, with me teeth clenched around the strap. I try to ignore it and walk to the refrigerator, I silently open the fridge and take a brown banana, a old pack of jello, and a stale sandwich. I pack my lunch box with them and silently open and close the front door and walk down the front steps.

My head is drooping as I struggle to even walk to school, I see some of the fillies and colts laugh at me and call me a gothic freak as they happily prance away. Actually, I'm not at all a gothic freak at all, I may look like one because of the black bruises around my eyes, my extremely pale cement color coat and my unnaturally black mane. My ghost blue eyes don't help either, and I'm also very tall, in fact, I'm the tallest pony in the class, and also the skinniest. I seriously look like goth middle aged mare! But I guess it's just meant to be. I just wish I could tell someone about my problem, but, if i do, they might tell my mother, and I might actually die from slow a agonizing beating, but honestly, right now, I'm considering it. It seems like hours to walk to school. Somehow, I finally make it to the school steps. It's torture walking up to the entrance, but at least all the other fillies are happy and ready to go to school. During class, I quietly draw at the back of the class. Cheerlie walks around to look at our work and complements all of the other ponies, when she comes to my desk, it looks like she was about say something but instead, her cheerful smile turns to suspicion. She narrows her eyes, so they look like tiny slits. I notice she's staring at my forehead. Oh no… Don't look at the cut, don't look at the cut! But thank my lucky star that Cheerlie only shrugs and walks back to the chalk board. Another sigh of relief escapes me, she didn't care about the huge cut on my forehead. I cover it up franticly brushing my hair over the cut. It's another lonely recess as I sit on the "abandon swings", all the ponies are laughing and playing, some of them chant gothic freak at me, but, I don't care. I look up to the cloudy sky only to see on single gap opening, something forms, and I realize what it is. An image of me, my once caring and loving mother, and my dad before, he, well….. "left", were all laughing up there loving life and loving our family. I think to myself, there is a place, out there and soon, I will join that place, where I can finally be loved. School ends again, and as I walk home, I get the same gothic freak chant, but I just continue along. I should just run away but, where would I go? Who would want me? I quietly walk up to my room with little struggle, I feel way less pain now but, that's not gonna last long.

That night, I'm sitting on my bed stroking my aged teddy bear's head, which is my only toy now. I hear huge, loud stomping, and it's coming toward my room. All of a sudden my slams open actually breaking a good portion of my already damaged wall. She charge towards and lifts me up by my mane. "Who did you tell?" "Uhhhhhhhh." I say startled. What was she talking about? Before I have time to ask, she throws me up to the ceiling. My head hits it hard, and I mean hard. I scream not because I'm in pain, but because, I'm seriously terrified. Mother catches me by my shoulders and slams me down on my bed. I feel a crack, and pain bursts through my arms. I moan, now I know, that I have now made her completely furious. She shoves her face into mine and screams at the top of her lungs, "WHAT DID YOU TELL THEM!?" The reek of alcohol seeps into my nostrils, I realize why mother is acting crazy, she's on a drunken rampage! Before I could do or say any thing, she throws me down onto the floor. The bottom half of my torso becomes numb, she must have broken the bottom part of my spine, at least I won't feel pain there. Then, she really gets down to work and I shriek when she punches and bites me. I hear different, snaps, cracks, and pops, as she bends my appendages in awkward ways. I close me eyes wishing to myself that this would end. Soon after I think that, mother stops and sprints out of my room and down the stairs. I didn't see why she stopped, but I was too much in pain to move. I notice my teddy bear lying face down on the floor beside my bed. I convulse as I move towards "him", but I don't know how I did get ver there, but I did. I reach out and grab him. I curl up beside him and try to hold him in my arms as best as I can. I hear even louder foot steps, and my mother comes bursting n again. I stare in complete terror and horror at what my mother was carrying. She was caring a huge and a deadly sharp carving knife, and a at least ten bottles of beer, liquor, and other bottles of "crack". She screams like a possessed banchee and holds up the knife. It gleams in the moonlight, as she forcefully turns me over. I drop my teddy bear and it now lays beside me. I lay on my back with me bruised and lacerated chest sticking out. I tremble and scream like I never have before as she stabs the knife into my chest at least five times and then continues punching me. But I don't feel any of it. My vision becomes blurry and black and finally, for once in my life, I feel at peace. The last thing I see is my mother drinking all the bottles of crack at once and then she passes out beside me.

A few days later, a light summer breeze blows a graceful willow around. Under the willow is a polished statue saying, Stone Heart, 2009-2012. I stand in front of the grave stone staring blankly at it. I think to myself, why did the world forget about me and my broken heart? But I don't cry, I just stare with an up turned face. At the corner of my vision, I notice a red rose. I can only lift up one more mortal thing before I leave. I trot over to the rose and gently close my teeth around the thorny stem. I sprint over to the grave stone and gently lay the rose on the brown dirt. I stare at it for a few moments, soon, a silver light appears. I run toward a it. Realization finally seeps into my mind, as I run. I really am now at peace, and I am running without struggle. No more bruises, no more pain, and no more worries. But the best part is, _I_ can reunite with my family, my true family. My dad and my real loving and sweet mom. I feel wings growing on me, it definitely doesn't hurt, it actually feels so good. You know, I might have been a broken spirit when I was alive, but now I'm finally strong, and for once in long time, I'm happy. I'm not a weak girl, I'm a concrete angel. I smile for the first time in a long time as I fly into the silver light seeing my real parents smiling and welcoming me with warm and loving eyes.


End file.
